


An Anniversary To Remember

by madeof_it



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anniversary, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 09:11:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1852531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeof_it/pseuds/madeof_it
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco's memory isn't usually this terrible, but what happens when he forgets his anniversary?</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Anniversary To Remember

He had no idea what he was searching for. Mostly, he'd just wanted to pick out a gift for Hermione, and figured he'd do a little bit of improving to his own image in the process.

Though it'd been years since the end of the War and Voldemort's fall, there were still whispers throughout the wizarding world of who had fought for whom -- and the Malfoy family name had lost some of its former shine when their involvement with the Death Eaters was unveiled. Mother had helped a bit, what with her helping Potter deceive the Dar-- Voldemort. Draco himself was trying to do his part as well.

And that's how he'd ended up in this busy Muggle bookstore, surrounded by squalling children and Merlin knows what kind of germs they were releasing into his airspace. He'd considered a Bubble-Head Charm before remembering where he was, with many regrets at having ventured out. Should've just taken Weasley up on his offer to teach him the Interwebs or whatever that was. Something about being like invisible Owls sent around the world at speeds faster than a Patronus could make it (and a bit more discretely). Alas.

He vowed to pick something for her...something she'd love and cherish and that would remind her of all the ways he'd changed since being a school-aged prat (some nights he still had nightmares of the time she punched him /PUBLICLY/ in their third year).

With another shriek from one of the miniature banshees surrounding him, though, Draco's patience was nearing its end. He grabbed the first leather-bound book he saw that seemed to weigh more than a small child could carry and headed towards the till to pay. A thump resounded when he dropped it onto the counter, and he almost didn't notice the clerk's eyebrow raise as she scanned the title of the book.

"What?" he scowled, his typically professional demeanor was squashed by his general discomfort.

She said nothing, but tittered for a second before scanning the price and announcing a number.

It was only then that Draco realised that he'd picked up a copy of "How to Draw Naked People". And that he had no idea what his total meant. Suddenly flustered, he threw a handful of bills and coins onto the counter and fled, protesting her insistence upon giving him change ("isn't this enough!?" he thought) and bagging the thick (and poorly chosen) tome.

\---

Later that evening, he was sitting in a pub drinking an aged Scotch with Weasley and Thomas. The three of them worked together at the Ministry, in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and it was fairly normal for the three of them to end their work days with a drink or three. Tonight's toast was Dean's "To coping with idiots for another day!" followed shortly by Weasley's "And the Malfoy-Granger's anniversary!" -- which was followed immediately by Draco spitting out his drinking and racing to the Floo.

He couldn't believe he'd forgotten! He'd even made reservations at her favourite restaurant, had Mother select a dress...he spent his entire speedy trek home cursing himself (lowercase C). Jokingly, and with some regret, he thought about how he'd pulled a Potter (a reference to any number of times he had to second-hand-listen to Potter's wife complain to his about his lack of attention to important dates).

By the time he burst through the doorway of their little brownstone, it was too late to salvage their dinner plans.

She was there on the crimson sofa, bare feet tucked under her and leaning against the arm. The room was silent but for her soft breathing, and his heart ached at the sight of her. As he approached, he noted with relief that she didn't appear to have been crying, and sank down next to her, pulling her sleeping form on his lap.

"Hermione, love," he murmured, pressing his lips to her temple and rubbing circles on her back.

She stirred and lifted her rosy-cheeked face to his, a small smile spreading across her lips.

"Husband," she returned, stretching like a cat before wrapping her arms around his neck. "You're late."

If she were anyone else, he'd have lied and made up an excuse. He wouldn't have admitted his own fault in the matter, and he might've even have found a way to blame someone else directly for his tardiness.

But if she were anyone else, he wouldn't be living in this house or sharing that bed (with its horrid flower sheets, but she'd retrieved them from her parents' house and he couldn't bear to tell her no). He wouldn't have the friends he'd made (though he'd never tell Weasley he considered him a friend) and he might even not have had this job. He wouldn't have married anyone else, wouldn't have loved anyone else, and nobody else could've saved him the way she did.

Draco Lucius Malfoy wasn't usually one for expressing his feelings, but in the dim glow of the living room of the house they shared, it just felt right.

He pulled the book from its hiding space behind the couch (rather impressive she hadn't found it before then) and placed it in her hands. Unlike the clerk earlier, the title wasn't the first thing she noticed.

"Draco. This isn't a magical book." It was spoken almost reverently, and she examined it with raised eyebrows.

"I...went out and bought it." He felt a bit sheepish about the entire thing, but she seemed to understand the difficultly he'd had in leaving his own comfort zone to find something that would make her happy. She knew, and she was more pleased with the gesture itself than she could've been with any other (more-fitting) book he could've selected for her.

She didn't have any words, and her only response was to tug him closer with her fingers threaded through his blonde hair and plant a deep kiss. 

"I see you're wearing the dress Mo--I picked out for you."

Her fingers traced the embroidery that lined the skirt. "It fits very well. You did a good job selecting it." The emphasis on the word made it clear she knew Narcissa had helped, but her eyes were sparkling with amusement so he knew she didn't mind.

The neckline cut right down her chest, practically to her navel, and he frowned at the idea that they'd nearly gone out with her wearing it.

"Maybe you should only wear this at home." he mentioned, as casually as he could.

She laughed at him. LAUGHED, and softened the blow with a light kiss to his lips. "Your ideas for tonight were grand and all, but I'd prepared in the off-chance something like this happened."

He might've been offended if she hadn't followed the statement with appeasing lines about how capable he was and how it was only because work was stressful lately and she knew he didn't love her any less, all the while rising off his lap and tugging him towards the stairway by his tie.

The night that ensued was far more enjoyable than sitting in a crowded dining room sipping on wine, and Draco thought maybe next year he'd "forget" their anniversary on purpose.


End file.
